Each year I take on shit jobs at Christmas to make ends meet, and usually the jobs end up involving snakes. Thus, I knew that there would be trouble when taking on the job of clearing piles of dried olive tree branches at “Brown Snake Hill,” so called.
I figured that locals had seen one or two snakes, shit themselves and came up with that name out of fear. But, once I started moving the timber, it seemed like every pile had a brown snake living in there. Normally these creatures choose not to confront humans, but when their homes are being wrecked by big fuckers, who can blame them for wanting to lash out? I would if I was a brown super-venomous snake:
I did not have a gun with me, so, I cut an improvized sjambok:
from a straight, green flexible olive, which I coated with PVC tape, during my lunch time rest under a tree, just to pretend to myself that I had brought the Cold Steel version.
The deal was: you fucking go for me, I wack you. Seems to be a good working principle for life.
The Great Train Wreck of the West
